Muggle Shopping
by GreenEyesGreySkies
Summary: Harry takes Draco shopping. Oh dear. Post-Hogwarts AU.


**drarry prompted by anonymous**

**prompt: **_Draco being forced by Harry to wear muggle clothes..But Draco doesn't want so Harry rips his clothes off has his way with him and makes him wear the muggle clothes?_

**Author's Note: This is really old. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters. Sigh.

_**~x~x~x~x~x~**_

"Oh come on, Harry! This is fucking ridiculous. I am _not_ going in there."

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed Draco's arm, forcing the other man into the muggle menswear clothing department store. "You promised you'd do whatever I asked of you for my birthday, remember?" Harry reminded him. "I want you to do this."

Draco yanked his arm away, and his mouth curled up in distaste as he observed the store. "I had meant for you to shove me onto the bed and have your wicked way with me, not force to me try on _muggle _clothing!"

Harry raised his eyebrows and grinned at the prospect. "Interesting," he remarked, plucking a pair of denims from one of the shelves and inspecting it curiously. "Maybe later." Frowning now, he took a crumpled list out of his pocket and perused it. "Hermione says to... avoid flared bottoms, coloured patterns, and light wash... What the _hell_ does that mean?" he muttered to himself.

To be honest, Harry had just assumed that denims had only come blue and black. Why would someone need otherwise? And personally, Harry only owned some blue shirts, a couple of white ones, and three knit jumpers from Mrs. Weasley—not a wide range of variety, but he had lived with it for his entire life, so it obviously wasn't a hindrance to society. How many different colours of clothing did one even require, anyways? He picked up a pair of black denims and shrugged. They seemed okay to him... But then again, his fashion sense was most always completely off, which was why he had Hermione write down a list of things he should find for his stubborn boyfriend in the first place.

"Here, try these," he said, throwing them at Draco.

Draco caught the denims with one fluid movement, and then eyed them with distrust. "You have got to be kidding me right now. What are these made of, steel wool?" He made a noise of disgust. "I cannot possibly wear these; I'm not trying them on. Put them back."

Harry gave him a dry look. "You are going to try that on," he insisted. "It's my birthday."

"I don't care if it's your birthday or Merlin's himself, I am not going to put those on!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Your arse will look fantastic in those."

Draco raised his brows a bit, now inspecting the denims with newfound interest. "My arse already looks fantastic," he muttered.

"Yes, it does," Harry said. "Now help me look for a jumper to go with that."

Draco made a noncommittal noise and turned his back on Harry, obviously aiming to appear as bored as possible. Stubborn git. Harry sighed and went to go look for the jumper on his own. Merlin, this store was huge. How could anyone find anything in here? Eventually, he picked up a soft-looking ash-grey garment and glanced back at Draco, who was trailing after him reluctantly. Yes. This would go nicely with Draco's eyes. Plus, the material felt like heaven on earth.

"Hold this for me, will you?" Harry asked, handing it to Draco without receiving the proper response first. "I think you'll like this one. It's really soft."

The other man glanced at the clothing and snorted. "That's because it's _cashmere,_ you dolt," he said. "I do have cashmere jumpers of my own, you know. I may have one just like this."

Harry shrugged and rubbed his forehead. Shopping was confusing. "We'll just see how it goes," he mused. Draco shrugged. Obviously, the man had gotten used to the idea of being in a Muggle store by now. Harry let out a sigh. Well, at least the blond wasn't complaining out loud anymore.

After another half an hour of arguing and wandering around the store, Harry had finally acquired a whole armful of clothing for Draco to try on—Draco was still only carrying the black denims and the grey jumper, but Harry thought of it as a success. Draco hadn't tried to hide or put anything down for a whole ten minutes. Progress was key with the stubborn ex-Slytherin.

As Harry was struggling to keep the blazer hanging on his arm up with the prop of his knee, a young, pretty woman with dark hair and very red lips scurried towards him with a wide smile on her face. "Would you like a fitting room for these, sir?" she asked cheerfully.

Draco cut in, his lips pursed as he evaluated the woman. "No, we don't," he sneered. "We were just leaving, actually. Goodbye."

Harry elbowed him in the side with a hard jab before turning back towards the saleslady. "Yes, we would like a room," he answered sweetly. "Thank you."

The woman observed the two of them with a small frown and took the clothes from Harry's grasp, placing them in the nearest fitting room. "Let me know if you need anything else," she informed them, whirling around quickly to leave them to it—she seemed rather eager to get away from them. Harry sighed. As the months of their relationship went by, Harry had slowly but surely realised the true extent of Draco's effect on people... needless to say, the ex-Slytherin was _quite_ the charmer in public places—meaning that nobody ever seemed to want to sit near them at restaurants.

Harry grabbed Draco's arm and yanked him towards the dressing room curtain. "Come on, Draco," he coaxed.

"No." Draco folded his arms firmly across his chest. "I won't."

Harry sighed. "Please?"

"No."

"Draco..."

"You can't make me!"

"I just want you to try them on!"

Draco frowned. "And I just want you to shag me senseless, but do I get that? No."

Harry stared at Draco for a long while. Then he grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into the tiny room. Harry made sure to slam him hard against the wall and then glared up at him with flashing, narrowed emerald eyes. "You want me to shag you senseless?" he hissed. "Have it your way!"

Draco's eyes widened as Harry whipped Draco's sweater off with so much force that he almost ripped it. Harry felt powerful, but at the same time, powerless to his control—he couldn't stop if he had tried. Gods, Draco always had a way of getting his blood boiling... in more ways than one. Harry growled a few more times, and stripped the rest of Draco's clothing from him until the blond was in his pants and shivering in the corner of the dressing room.

"It's cold," Draco complained, rubbing his arms for warmth.

Harry shoved him back again, with greater force. "You'll be warm soon," he murmured, his eyes flickering up and down Draco's body with satisfied lust. He snatched a fistful of silvery blond hair and yanked Draco forward. Their mouths crashed together; teeth grazing and lips searching in a familiarly aggressive manner, the way that Harry knew Draco loved. Draco moaned as Harry pressed his groin against his and grinded furiously.

"You like that?" Harry demanded. Draco grabbed Harry's hips in an attempt to pull them closer and moaned louder. There it was again: the power. Harry almost smirked. He knew just how to get Draco going, too.

"Yes Harry, oh gods, fuck yes," Draco breathed, pressing his face into the sweetly scented crook of Harry's neck as his fingers wandered down to Harry's trousers.

Harry shook his head and pushed Draco away. "Not yet," he warned. "Do something for me first."

Draco groaned. "Merlin, Potter, if you weren't so goddamned fit, I would _kill_ you right now."

Harry grinned. He began teasingly sucking and nibbling at Draco's neck, surely leaving behind a trail of large, red marks there, and Draco gasped and threw his head back desperately in response. As Harry was doing that, Draco managed to pull Harry's shirt over his crop of messy hair. The Slytherin then fell to his knees, taking delight in kissing and sucking and nipping his own trail down Harry's upper torso.

Harry took advantage of Draco's unraveled state, tugging the cashmere jumper over the blond's head between hard, furious kisses that Draco was showering across his chest; the other man hardly seemed to notice, still too preoccupied with his lustful activities. Harry, now excruciatingly needy himself, dragged Draco up to face level and captured the Slytherin's slightly reddened mouth in a heated kiss, his hands roaming over and under the soft cashmere, feeling the subtly toned muscles on Draco's chest. Gods, it felt good. He was _so_ not regretting bringing Draco here, despite all of the complaining and smart-arse remarks. It was always worth it with Draco.

Trying to regain some self-control, Harry pulled away and screwed his eyes shut, biting his lip. _Remember the mission._ He picked up the black denims and began to ease them onto an equally frustrated and now curiously submissive Draco. Fastening the zipper and button with one quick motion, Harry took Draco by the belt loops and pulled him closer to whisper in his ear.

"See, I knew that you would look utterly delectable in those denims, love," he purred. "Shall we finish trying on these clothes so that we can go home and finish the job? Will you do that for me, Draco?"

Draco swallowed hard. "You're a fucking tease, Potter," he muttered.

Harry grinned. "If the shoe fits," he agreed. "Literally, I mean."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Just give me the damned clothes. And wipe that look from your face before I slap it off."

Harry bit his lip and tried not to look smug as Draco began collecting as many clothes as he could hold and shoving them onto himself with flustered and jittery movements. Draco really did look good in Muggle clothes. Perhaps Harry could convince him to wear them in the bedroom... at least, until they came off.

"Maybe we should buy these," Draco suggested casually, inspecting himself in the mirror with obvious approval. "You know. Because _you_ like them and all."

Harry sat down to watch with a satisfied smile. They should go clothes shopping more often.


End file.
